For Freedom
by Alet-san
Summary: [WE] Elizabeth remembers something that never should have been forgotten, but someone else gets to it first. And what does Jack have to do with the whole mess? OMFG, it's Ch. 12! After what, 10 months?
1. Prologue

**bSet the scene:/b **in the Caribbean, in the harbor town of Port Royal, Jamaica.  Night draws a gentle blanket over the land, the moon and a few adventurous stars glow softly while the sun still sends defiant rays of color into the clouds and across the calm sea.

**bZoom camera:** /bthis is neither the poorest district nor the richest - it is a district of the artisans, of the craftsmen; by no means the movers and shakers, but not able to be easily moved or shook.  Call them the polishers and grinders, if you will, roughly equivalent to the maintenance keepers of the world.

**bFade lights: /b**the house is tall and narrow, and buts up to the houses around it with barely a foot between - like every other house in this neighborhood.  The downstairs is a tiny kitchen and a living area, while upstairs, in the bedroom, the master of the house gets ready for sleep.  He watches with the fond eyes of one newly married as the mistress of the house (and, to be honest, the master of his heart) stirs in her sleep and murmurs unintelligibly.

**bEnter music:** /bhe gently lifts the covers up and crawls into bed, careful not to disturb her rest, while a small gray cat leaps up into the space between their legs and begins purring industriously.  A smile and a soft chuckle from the man follows, as he pulls her closer to him, though careful not to disturb the cat.  She smiles in her sleep, snuggles closer and whispers his name.

**bAction:** /bin the safety of her home and the arms of her beloved, Elizabeth dreams ...


	2. The Dream

_It was very, very late – so late it was early – and normally the little girl would have been asleep long before now.  Well, in bed at least.  But not tonight – tonight was a night that would leave its stain on her memory, and the memories of all involved.  It was a night when her world as she know it would change, and one of the stabilizing pillars in her life would crumble and leave her ill-balanced and shaky for years yet to come._

_But the little girl didn't know that – all she knew was that Papa and Sis had been fighting again.  That in itself wasn't so rare – they had always had the occasional disagreement, and they had been getting more frequent when Sis had turned sixteen.  Now, at nineteen, they were almost daily occurrences.  No, what was special about this night was that they had argued the night into dawn, and had not even tried to keep their voices down, but had screamed at each other nonstop from the moment the heavy oaken doors of father's study slammed shut.  Of course, the door and the walls were thick enough that their words were lost and all that passed through were voices and tones, but still, it normally concealed their fights from the rest of the household.  Suddenly, there was a loud, sharp CRACK that broke through even the four-inch-thick walls and left behind it a silence that was twenty times as echoingly loud as the screaming had been._

_Then the door burst open and the little girl's sister exited from the room, her left cheek a flaming red that denied the expression of carved ice on her face.  Their father made as if to move towards the door, and the girls, his mouth opened to form the beginnings of words, but the little girl's sister slammed it shut before he could get any farther, not noticing or not caring that the portraits on the walls shook at the force of the slam.  She stalked down the hallways, deaf to her little sister's inquiries, so the girl followed her, burning with the curiosity that is so abundant in all six-year olds._

_She watched her sister stomp her way out of the mansion and to the grounds with an air that is normally only associated with very angry, very large cats.  Servants fled from her path – or maybe from the expression on her face, which the little girl could not see from her position.  Down they went, down and out of their father's extravagant house and into the English countryside; heedless of the dark only just beginning to fade in dawn, he sister walked past the many stone fountains, through the elegantly manicured Formal Gardens, and into the much less gardened area where the stables were, and the mews and the kennels.  The little girl watched as her sister disappeared into the stables first, and emerged some time later, leading three horses on halter-ropes._

_The first horse was very young, almost too young to wear a saddle, a blocky mustang with strong legs and a fiery red coat – a colt her sister had helped birth and was now training.  The second was a sleek Arabian bay, and her sister's favorite hunter.  The last horse was the largest of them all, topping the Arabian by a hand and the mustang by two.  He was pure onyx black, and the stable hands swore he was three-quarters mad, but he stood at her sister's should as docile as an aging pony.  The little girl wasn't surprised – her sister took to needlework like a cat took to water, Cook had banned her from the kitchen, and she saw etiquette lessons as a form of cruel and unusual torture, but she had a knack for making animals love her._

_One by one she went to each of the horses, slipped off their halters and whispered a few words into their ears.  Then, with a flick of a rope across their rumps, she set them free.  They stayed where they were for a moment, before the big black shook his head with a snort as if trying to be rid of a pesky fly and sprang off like a shot, the other two behind him.  Her sister watched them until the trees had hidden all trace of their passing with an expression the little girl had never seen before, and could not name, and then she turned into the kennels._

_The dogs ran straight out of the kennel without needing her encouragement, five big mastiff/something hybrids (and more than a few willing to replace the "something" with "wolf"), and the little girl watched her sister go into the mews, not understanding her older sibling's behavior, but appreciating that this was something that needed to be done, and done in silence._

_When her sister left the mews, she had only one bird on her ungloved fist, a two year-old peregrine falcon tiercel that was death on wings to small animals, birds, falconers, trainers, and basically anything and anyone not her sister.  She held the bird, named Freiheit, close to her chest, her free hand buried in his breast feathers, her head bent down over his in a pose that was certain death if anyone else tried it.  They stayed like that for a long time, until dawn was no longer a promise on the horizon, but well under way.  She whispered a few words to the falcon, then launched him into the air and stared until Freiheit was only a shrinking dark spot in the sky, and then not even that.  Now, the little girl decided, now was the time for words._

_"Kate?"  She queried, "Wa's going on?  Why'd'ja do that?"_

_At this, she saw her sister's shoulders sag, her head bow down and her hands fall to hang limply at her sides; and just when she thought her sister would break, would crumple up into a ball and cry for the first time she had ever seen, Kate's back straightened, her shoulders squared, and her hands curled into fists.  When she turned around, Kate's mouth was thin, and her eyes were strained and slightly watery – but the worshipful eyes of the little girl refused to see, just as she did not even consider that her older sister had any reason other than a good and just one for doing what she did._

_"Nothing," Kate replied with a smile to sad and bitter to belong to her, and so didn't.  "I'm just going to have to go away for awhile, Lizzie, and I thought I'd let my friends go on vacation will I'm gone."  Her eyes clouded and Kate looked at her little sister without seeing her for some time before rapidly shaking her head – much like the black stallion had done.  _

_"Can you promise me something Lizzie?" she asked, crouching down to look her sister in the eye.  Lizzie nodded mutely, and was rewarded by a glowing smile from Kate, a smile that didn't completely reach her eyes – but again, Lizzie's brain corrected what her eyes could not possibly have seen.  _

_"I need you to promise that whatever happens, you won't forget me."  Kate's eyes burned far out of proprtion to their steel-gray color, stilling Lizzie's immediate reaction to agree thoughtlessly, and leading her to again settle for a solem, unmistakeable nod.  Then, because no matter how mature she had been acting for the past few hours, she was still only six years old, Lizzie added a plainative almost-whine._

_"My feet 'r hurtin', Kate.  'M tired."_

_Kate grinned (this one finally reaching her eyes) an picked up her little sister in a sweepng hug._

_"Then we'd better get to sleep, hadn't we Little Larkie Lizzie, hmm?"  Kate teased, using the nickname that never failed to casue her little sister to dissolve into giggles - and this time was no exception.  They started off back to the mansion, Kate walking and Lizzie being carried, the ruby dawn lighting the way, and Lizzie was just drifting off to sleep when she heard Kate whisper something she wasn't sure she was supposed to have heard._

_"Don't worry, Elizabeth, everything will be alright.  I promise."_

_She didn't know then that those would be the last words her sister would ever speak to her for a very long time, didn't know that neither of them would have a chance to say good bye.  Elizabeth Swann fell asleep in complete ignorance of the fact that her sister, her acting-mother, her truest and best friend in the whole world, her pillar, her rock would be gone when she woke up._


	3. Rude Awakenings

Elizabeth Swann _ne_ Turner woke up slowly, feeling rather disorientated.  Will wasn't in bed, but that was nothing to worry about; if she had his shedule right, he would be downstairs making tea for the two of them right about now - he'd always been an early riser.  She remembered having a dream ... and some of it she could remember but ... most of it escaped her.  This was always extremly annoying, but this time she had a feeling that it had been a dream about something important ... about ...

"Oh dear God!"  Elizabeth sat bolt upright in her bed, a look of horror on her face.  "Oh God oh God oh GodoohGodoh_GOD_!"  The last ended on a plainative wail that was probably heard somewhere in Canada, if not France itself.

"What?!"  There was a sound of thudding on the stairs, as of someone running up them very fast, and Will burst through the bedroom door, wild-eyed and sword drawn, ready to kill who- or whatever had threatened _his_ Elizabeth.  "What is it!?  Elizabeth?"  He saw her sitting on their bed, the sheets pulled up tightly to her chest, white-faced and shaking, and the sword fell to the ground with a clatter as he an over to her.  "'Lizabeth, darling, what's wrong?  What happened?"

With a strangled sob, Elizabeth flung herself at her husband and burried her face in his chest.  For several minutes Will just stroked her back and murmured soothing nothings into her ear while the cat, who had somehow managed to insert his anxiously purring presence between the two of them, rubbed against her, soothing in his own, feline way.  Then, when the cat's purr had faded to a constant, low rumble, when Elizabeth had stopped shaking and sobbing and just whispered some faint, indecipherable words over and over again, did he dare to ask again.

"Elizabeth, love, look at me."  Gently, Will placed a hand under her chin, exerting no force, not making her tilt her chin up, just encouraging her to ... which she did.  He smiled tenativeley into her eyes and cupped her jaw, noting with worry the tear-stained cheeks and swollen red eyes.  "Now, what was that all about?  You can tell me."

At that, Elizabeth's face crumpled, and Will feared she would start crying again, but she didn't.  She just burried her face in his chest again and whispered "I'm scum.  No, I'm worse than scum.  I'm the scum on scum's boots.  I don't deserve to see the light of day."

"Hey now," Will gently admonished while tangling a hand in her hair.  "There's no call for that kind of talk.  You're not scum, and you _definitely_ deserve to live, no matter what anyone says.  What happened to get you thinking like that, hmm?"  He tilted his head down and looked into her eyes worridly.  "Please tell me love."

"It's ... I ... I just ... I had ... I had a dream ... and ...and ..." every few words she had to pause, as if holding back yet more sobs.

"Yes?  You had a dream and ...?"  Will prompted when the latest pause had gone on for several minutes.  Elizabeth took a deep, comosing breath and began again.

"I had a dream and I realized that ... that I had ... had ... I ... I _forgot!_"  The last came out in a wail as she wrapped her arms around Will's neck and let her forehead resume its familiar place on his chest, with the back of her head brushing under his chin.  "I forgot everything, Will, _everything_!  And I promised!  I promised Will!  'Never forget me', she said, and I _promised_ but I forgot anyways!  I can't even remember now exactly _when _I forgot, I just ... I just ... I ..."  She dissolved into more sobbing, while Will worridley stroked her back again.  This was _not_ the normal, cool, composed Elizabeth he was familiar with - whoever or whatever she had forgotten must have been monumentally important to make her act like this.

"Who did you forget love?"  He whispered to her, rubbing small circles on her back like he did to Sally, whenever the old smithy mule was frightened.  Elizabeth probably wouldn't apprieciate the comparison, but what worked on one female might work on another so ... she didn't really need to know.  Besides, it did seem to be helping, a little.  "Who?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth, took several quick, sobbing breaths, and was finally able to say "My ... my sister, Will.  My _sister!_  I forgot her.  I ... I ... forgot _Kate!"_


	4. Dancing in the Rain

_We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!_

_We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot_

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Yo__ ho, you ho, a pirate's life for me!_

It was raining – a heavy, crushing rain that sent even the toughest pirate belowdecks, cursing at the sky and Nature in general all the while.  The sails were furled, as no Captain was crazy enough to pilot in a gale like this, and no crew worth their salt would sail in one.  All the crew was crowded below, listening to the fierce, steady drum of rain on wood, and thanking whatever God they happened to believe in (or just giving out a generic prayer of thanks as shared by all atheists and agnostics in times like these) that they had managed to find even partial shelter in the cliffs of an unnamed island in the Atlantic, somewhere quite a ways off the coast of South America.

_We extort and pilfer, we filch and sack_

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Maraud and embezzle and even highjack_

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Yo__ ho, Yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

The rain fell not in drops, not even in sheets, but in quilts – big and thick and very bulky – and created a sound not unlike a thousand drummers performing a fanfare – for every square inch of ship.  Thus, it wasn't surprising that none of the heard the song, although none of them would have been surprised if they did, and more than half of them suspected it was being sung anyways.  And, well, why not?  Their latest raid had been a success, and they actually hadn't killed all that many people, which, contrary to popular opinion, they weren't all that fond of.  Oh, yes, any one of them on that ship would've been willing to kill without a thought, every one of them _had_ killed without a thought, and none of them had agonized over it all that much later – or, at least, they hadn't agonized over killing for a long time.  Still, the Cap'n was a bit of a queer one (much in the way the sun in the desert at high noon is a tad warm), and vaguely paranoid (again, only in the way water is vaguely wet) and so it came to be that any crewman who got the bloodlust was dumped off in the nearest port they could find, no matter how long the crewman had been with them, what he knew, or how short-handed they were.

_We kindle and char, inflame and ignite_

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!_

_We burn up the city, we're really a fright_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

And yet, no matter the Captain's idiosyncrasies, every last one of them, right down to the parrot, would follow him anywhere.  They'd probably even sail out into this storm if he told them to – but not even the Captain was daft enough for that.  Indeed, they'd all come to develop a sort of fierce pride for their Captain and all his "quirks" as they called him, an attitude that was as easily roused and as hard to cool as a mother's defense of her young.  It could be summed up as almost "'E may be a daft ol' drunkard, an' a mutherluvi'n sunnuva dog, but 'e's _our_ daft ol' mutherluvi'n sunnava dog, ya 'ear?", but not really because … because … well, you'd have to be a pirate to understand.  No, you'd have to be _more than a pirate, you'd have to be one of __them, you'd have to have sailed under the Captain, you have to have _met_ the Captain before you could even begin to understand.  Without that, without having known him, you may as well explain the color of time, or tell what sound orange makes, than describe the effect he had on people._

_We're rascals, scoundrel's, villans and knaves_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!_

_We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs_

_Drink up me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

In the end, you could probably say it was because of the rain.  In the rain, the ship stayed lashed down, wallowing in a rocky "harbor" that gave half-shelter which was so very, very much better than none at all, and in the rain the crew ran belowdecks and cursed.  Birds found shelter where they could, or died; animals curled in their dens and waited for the end, or drowned; people huddled up in their houses with blankets and hot drinks, or were chilled to the bone and probably caught ill.  But in rain such as this, Captain Jack Sparrow danced on the slippery decks, heedless of such trifles as soaking clothes, sodden boots, smearing khol, and death-slick wooden boards, his feet landing as surely as if the decks had been bone dry, head upturned to the weeping heavens, singing, as if the wind did not steal his voice from his lips, and as if the rain did not drown out his song so that you could not hear him even if you stood an arm's-length away.  It was a song about pirates, understandably, and pillaging and looting and rum and all those other things associated with pirates.  But underneath that, beyond that, it was a song about joy and hope in the face of damnation, about laughing it up and standing until the last, and beyond.  It was a song about freedom – and a song about dancing in the rain.

_We're beggars and blighters and ne'er-do-well cads_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Aye! But we are loved by our mommies and dads_

_Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!_

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_

_Yo__ ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me!_


	5. And So It Begins

The eastern coast of Brazil was riddled with uncountable holes and caves, ranging from mere dents in the rock to huge, twisting networks of caverns hundreds of feet deep.  Among all of these caves, there was one cave that was neither the largest and most extensive, nor the smallest and the least, and, aside from one small point, completely inconspicuous, unremarkable, and certainly the last place anyone would ever look to find anything important.  That one small point which made a world of difference was positioning.

The cave was perfectly positioned so that the eye slid right over the shallow gash in a sheer cliff face that was its only entrance without even meaning to, so that it was nearly impossible to give credit to unless you knew what lay inside.  But that wasn't what made it so perfect, oh no, that wasn't even half of it.  What made _this_ cave so special, made _this_ cave and no other so terribly, terribly important was in the tiny little side cavern that branched off from the main (and much larger) one.  There wasn't much in the little grotto, just an unassuming, irregularly-shaped rock formation off to one side – the only even vaguely remarkable thing about it until you noticed that the rock … _twisted_ while you watched, so that at first it might appear to look something like a man sitting down, and then you would see that no, it was most clearly an eagle taking flight, but it couldn't be, because it was obviously a snarling wolf – see, the hackles were _here_, and _there_ was a fang – but that was nonsense, don't'cha see, because it was a noble lady, sitting demurely and working on a piece of embroidery that clearly wasn't embroidery, it was the froth of the sea splitting around a ship … and so on.  Every change lasted no more than a few moments and yet, once appeared, was _clearly_ that and only that, and had _clearly_ always been that, except for a few moments before, when it would have always been something else, and in a few moments later, where it would become something else again, something it had _always_ been.  The only thing solid was a sword that appeared in every single image – stuck in the ground, lain across a lap, thrust through a chest, brandished threateningly, lying unnoticed on the floor – and even that was more of a recurring theme than an actual solid image.  Sometimes the sword would be a rapier, sometimes a longknife, or a saber, or an elegant _katana_; it could be anything anyone dared call a blade, from a hulking, weighty greatsword to a tiny, flimsy lady's knife, suitable only for cutting embroidery stitches and loose threads, but all of them would be extremely impressive, polished to mirror-bright and inlaid with precious metals and gemstones.

That was one thing that made the cave so special.  The other was far less noticeable, and yet far more important.  A hole in the cave roof, formed by some unknown factor, let in a beam of sunlight that gradually moved along the dusty floor as the day progressed.  At, or around sunset, the beam of light would strike the shifting formation full on, highlighting every detail and freezing the shift for a few moments longer than normal, even if it was in the very middle of a transformation (though that hadn't happened anytime that anyone had seen, but it was possible), before the sun slipped behind the horizon and was lost to man until the dawn.  At times like these, it almost seemed like the rock, in whatever form it had taken, would step out from the cave wall, as real and tangible as any man or thing.

It was said that the rock and the hole existed for one purpose and one only, and that purpose was not to be revealed until the time of its happening, but that the purpose was more important than all the lives of all the things in sea, sky, or land.  It was said that they would know exactly when and by whom this purpose would occur, this purpose that would rid the world of an evil so foul that there is no name for it in any language that ever dared to whisper a dream of its existence onto the earth, because they would be told.  The crystal boulder that sat in the exact center of the main chamber, that was no more than a hundred yards from the grotto and its shifting stone, would tell them, would show them all they needed to know.  The rock and the hole would be the key, but the crystal was the lock and the door that would help them destroy this unspeakable evil that would not, could not, be unleashed upon the helpless world.

The man who said this was standing by the crystal, his palms flat against its rough, clouded surface, his eyes staring lovingly into the roiling maelstrom that raged just underneath its surface.  After a time, he pushed himself off the crystal, though with obvious reluctance.

"Come, my faithful."  His words were neither forceful nor loud, but they rolled and echoed through the tunnels and caves he and his brethren used as a base of operations as if he had shouted at the top of his lungs.  Presently, a few dirty, ragged lumps of humanity appeared from various tunnels around the main chamber, though the man gave heed to neither their scruffy appearance nor their rancid stench – indeed, he was little better off in either way than they were.  When all that would come had come, he spoke again, revealing blackened stubs of teeth that were all but rotted away.

"Come now, the time of our waiting draws to a close, and our faith shall soon be rewarded.  The Crystal has shown me those whom we must defend against, and it is we who must go out and keep them from ever unleashing their filthy, evil, putrid plots upon this innocent world.  We must protect the holiest of holy Crystal."

An eager murmur followed this, not actually progressing into coherency, but speaking of their readiness more accurately than any words could.  The man by the crystal smiled half in pride, and half in contentment – yes, his children were finally ready to do what they had been created for.  He would impart the faces and the proper knowledge in their minds, and let them bring those who would attempt harm to the very Crystal itself to him.  Let them see what it is they were against, let them see the terrible majesty of the Crystal, and let them fall before its presence, knowing they were less than the scum on his boots, they who would attempt to defile and befoul the Crystal.

"Go now, my beloved children.  Go and bring them forth, the wicked and the foolish ones.  Bring them to me."

His children left as silently as they had came, and the man turned back to gaze adoringly into his Crystal.  _Soon, my lovely._  He promised while lifting up a hand to gently stroke the craggy, warm surface.  _Soon the Reckoning will come, and the Purpose will be fulfilled._  He felt the Crystal tremble and smiled again, a tender, fond smile that would send children screaming for their mothers and give grown men nightmares for weeks.  _Do not become too excited, my sweet.  There is much to do yet._  The crystal trembled again, much more violently this time, and had it been human, anyone would have said it trembled not in excitement, but in a mixture of revulsion and terror.  But the man just stood there smiling and stoking the crystal.  _Yes, my pretty.  There is **much** to do yet._


	6. The Presents

Will had felt somewhat uncomfortable leaving Elizabeth alone in the house after that dream which had obviously been so traumatizing for her, but he was already late in opening the shop (which was now officially his after the death of old Mister Brown), and Elizabeth, his dear 'Lizabeth had insisted he go after she had gotten herself together again.  He went, because if there was one thing Will had learned in his year-long marriage, it was that when Elizabeth got that look on her face, where her eyes narrowed _just so and a tiny little crease appeared between her brows, there was absolutely no use arguing with her, because any further opposition would just strengthen her resolve.  Yes, he left, but not without worry, and not without a plan._

**Step One: make sure Elizabeth has no idea of Plan – well, that was taken care of, as she'd all but shoved him out of the door to the smithy, and probably suspected he was going to spend the day with only a quarter of his mind on the work and the rest of it worrying about her.  Which, Will admitted, he probably would, but, considering what he was planning on spending the day working on, the percentages would be reversed.**

Will walked in the smithy to find old widow Harrison already at work, sweeping, dusting, and generally tidying up the place.  Luckily, he was all caught up on commissions and it seemed that no one had come by yet today, so his lateness wasn't too reprehensible.  He hung his hat on the hook, turned the sign in the window, and gave her an apologetic smile at the lateness of his entry, to which she replied with a gentle "you haven't been late one day for years, Mr. Turner.  Everyone deserves an off day."

If there was a way to get old widow Harrison upset at anyone or anything, Will hadn't yet seen it.

**Step Two: make sure no one else has any certain idea of what he was up to either, except for old widow Harrison.  That was easy enough too, he'd just let everyone who came in with a commission know that he was already working on a _very important piece, and it would be more than his life was worth if he didn't finish it by today.  All true, and not so remarkable that anyone would do more than grumble half-heartedly and say they could wait then – because next time it might be __their "very important piece" he was working on.  Selflessness was always the most prominent when there was a very selfish reason for being so.  He couldn't hide from widow Harrison because she knew very well he had received no such commission, and while she would not press the issue, there would be a definite second-rate quality to the cleanliness of the place until her curiosity was satisfied – it wasn't really that Will _couldn't_ clean the smithy as he'd been doing since he was apprenticed _and_ do the actual forging, but he had to admit that ever since old widow Harrison had showed up one day with a broom, a rag that had to be __at least as old as she was, and an iron determination he had been able to get in twice the work as he had when Mr. Brown was still the "Master" smith, and that had meant he had been able to by a proper house for his 'Lizabeth, and not have her share the tiny closet of a room above the smithy that had been his home since he lived in Port Royale._**

"Morning, Mrs. Harrison," Will said as he pulled off his jacket and put on the heavy leather apron custom to his trade.  "I'm not going to be able to take many commissions today Mrs. Harrison.  Elizabeth seemed a bit distressed this morning, and I'm going to make her something to get her out of her mood."

Widow Harrison smiled, transforming her face into a network of winkles and gave him a fond look.  "You mean to lift her spirits with a pretty trinket then, young Will?  You two haven't been fighting, have you?"

Will laughed a bit as he searched his inventory for the right metal to use in Elizabeth's gift.  "No, Mrs. Harrison, we haven't been fighting.  'Lizabeth jus seemed upset this morning, and I'm meaning to put a smile back on her face, that's all."

That earned another fond smile and a wistful sigh.  "If there ever was any doubt to a body if young Mrs. Turner chose wrong in taking a blacksmith over the Commodore, you just proved them wrong, young Will.  You make your lass a trinket then, and if forge enough love into it with that hammer of yours, she'll forget what was troubling her in a heartbeat, mark you me."

Will grinned at her, and hefted the silver ingot he had finally selected.  "Thank you, Mrs. Harrison.  That's what I'm hoping will happen."

**Step Three: make present for Elizabeth, and make it perfect.  He had originally intended for this to be her birthday present, which was coming up in a few weeks, but 'Lizabeth needed something to coo over _now, and in a few weeks time he could make another birthday present.  Hopefully the combination of this present and the company of her friends would be enough to lift her from her mood (he'd never known she had a sister)._**

At first, the women had been quite reserved around Elizabeth, not knowing how to treat a governor's daughter, even if she was just a blacksmith's wife now.  Enough time, though, and they had taken Elizabeth into their fold like a mother bird welcomes and errant chick.  She had more friends now that she had ever had, he was sure, and sometimes Will would come home to a veritable flock of women in the sitting-room.  He never asked what they were speaking of, but the sudden silence as he entered and the resulting flurry of talking, as well as the sly looks and frequent blushing led him to hazard a few guesses.

Will worked until closing time, and by then Elizabeth's gift was just barely ready to give to her.  He picked up the now-cool amulet and studied it for any hint of a flaw.  Finding none, Will smiled, and threaded it on one of the many chains he always had ready.  He was running low on the thin silver ones, he noticed as he lifted the almost-last one off the hook where he kept that particular type.  Next time he had some free time, he'd have to make some more.

**Step Four: on the way home, buy some of those seedcakes Elizabeth was so fond of.  It was a little-known addiction, and Will had stumbled upon it quite by accident, but Elizabeth's fondness for the little cakes had been very useful knowledge for the course of their marriage.  More than one time he'd come home after they'd been fighting, properly repentant and bearing gifts of appeasement that certainly sped up the process of forgiveness much more than if he'd come without them.**

The woman who sold the cakes knew this well enough by now, and had stared putting some cakes into a little paper bag as soon as she saw Will's very recognizable face strolling down the street in her direction.  He smiled a bit ruefully when he saw the sack already waiting for him, and overpaid for the cakes.

"Am I that predictable already, Susanna?"  Will asked with that hurt puppy look of his that never failed to warm even the hardest heart, and didn't now.

"Aw, g'wan, ye 'opeless li'l blacksmith!"  The words were harsh, as the little shooing hand motions, but the tone was anything but, and the smile that she was obviously trying to hold back gave the lie to her words.  "Ah swear," She said with a mock scowl that was almost a grin, "Ah don' know 'ow yer lass puts up wit' ye – or why Ah do!"

"Because you love me, of course," Will replied with an impish grin and ducked to avoid the playful slap the shopkeeper sent his way.  He snatched the bag from the counter where it sat and backed away, giving Susanna a grand, playful bow, sweeping the ground with his hat.  "Fair Susanna, whose pastries are grand enough to feed a king!"

Will replaced his hat to Susanna's laughter, and that of any other bystander who had caught the little mock-drama, and strolled home in a much more cheerful mood.  Teasing Susanna was an old ritual between them – he'd known her since they were both little, and if he saw her as an easy-going older sister, well-adjusted to teasing, she saw him as a rascal of a little brother, to be playfully tolerated and treated like much more of a nuisance than he actually was.

When Will entered his house, his gifts weighing heavily in his jacket pocket, it was just in time to hold the door open for Elizabeth's friends as they left.  He offered a polite greeting and farewell to each of them as they passed, but, judging from the downright speculative looks he got from most of them, it was probably a very good thing that they didn't really say much.

"Elizabeth?"  Will ducked his head into the kitchen, and, finding a definite lack of Elizabeth, went on into the living room to find her sitting on the couch with a wistful look.

"Lizzie, darling," Will sat down next to her and put his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder.  "Are you feeling better now, love?"

"Mmm."  Elizabeth leaned into his embrace.  "And if I'm not?"  She teasingly asked him, knowing that Will's methods of cheering her up were quite enjoyable.

Will grinned against her neck, a smile she felt rather than saw.  "Well, than I'd guess it's a very good thing I bought these on the way home."  Will reached in his pocket and brought out the bag of seedcakes which he then playfully dangled in front of her face.

Elizabeth snatched the bag from his hand, eliciting a startled yelp from Will, and proceeded to devour the treats.  The expression on her face was somewhere between a "cat-with-the-cream" look and an "I've-died-and-gone-to-heaven look", and was only highlighted by the crumbs scattered around her lips.  Will watched her with a fond (and slightly goofy) grin, his arms still loosely wrapped around her waist.  Eventually, Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What?" she asked.  "What is it?  Do I have something on may face?"

Will shook his head, and lightly took her chin in his hand, effectively stopping Elizabeth in her search for a mirror.

"Have I told you today that you're beautiful, love?"  Will pulled her close to him and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"Not today you haven't m'dear."  Elizabeth pulled away and gave him a mock-reproachful look, before shaking her head and _tsk tsk-ing at him.  "Very poor form that is, Will.  And you, married for a year already!"_

He chuckled, and pressed his forehead to hers.  "Then I must make amends for that, shouldn't I?  Elizabeth, darling," here he pressed a light kiss to her forehead, "you look," a kiss to each eye next, "absolutely," then one to the nose, "positively," now the right cheek, and then the left, "stunning."  Will pressed a kiss on her lips, which started out innocent enough but quickly progressed into something that was anything but.

Right about the time Will was wondering if they could make it up the stairs without actually having to stop kissing, Elizabeth's second present jammed into his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch, and quite emphatically reminded him of its existence.

"Ow!"

"Will?"  Elizabeth looked up, all – well, mostly – worry.  "What happened?"

"It's nothing," he replied with a wince, rubbing his leg where the until-now-forgotten amulet had jabbed him.  "Actually," he removed the offending piece of jewelry and held it out to Elizabeth, "it's this.  It's for you – I was going to give it to you after the cakes, but, well, we …"

"… Got distracted."  Elizabeth finished with a wry grin, and took the necklace from his hand.  She held it up in front of her face, gasping softly as the amulet unwound from the chain and hung unobstructed before her eyes.

"'Lizabeth?" Will looked like he was trying to decide if that was an "oh-it's-beautiful" gasp or a "Why-on-earth-would-you-think-I'd-like-this?" gasp – which he was.  "D'you like it?"

"Do I like it, he asks," Elizabeth murmured softly while she brought the amulet closer to her.  "He gives me the moon on a chain and he asks me if I like it."  She looked up at a very nervous Will, and smiled in very distant way before saying "Will, it's perfect, no, no it's more than perfect.  It …" She looked up at him again and smiled again, not distantly at all, but as brilliant and as beautiful as the sun reflecting off the sea.  "It … reminds me of my … of Kate, you see.  She … she always … always had a … a soft spot for birds."  She stroked the amulet when she talked, running her fingers over the wrought silver that was more a suggestion of a bird than an actual likeness of one –as if vaguely incorporating all birds into a tiny shape no more than an inch across rather than picking and choosing any one specific one.  "I … I think she may have loved them almost as … almost as much as she … loved the ocean."  As she spoke, she had to pause several times, and Will was afraid she was starting to cry again.

"Elizabeth …"

She looked up one last time, and yes, those were tears glittering in her eyes, but there was a different feel around her this time.  Before, she cried tears of remorse and guilt – tears that stained without ever actually cleansing – these tears were happy ones, insomuch as tears based on sadness _could be happy; tears of remembrance and regret, and a love that shone through so strongly Will didn't know how he could have ever not guessed at it, or how Elizabeth had managed to keep it hidden for all these years he had known her – or why she would need to._

She shook her head and placed a finger over his lips, still smiling though she was crying, crying though she was smiling.  "Shh, shh Will.  It's okay, I'm alright now."  Somehow, even when all the evidence pointed against it, he believed her – not to say he'd stop worrying, but he knew, in the back of his mind, that she _would_ be okay, because she was alright, mostly.  "It's just, now _I_ need to talk, Will.  There are … things … I need to get off my chest.  Things I think I've been holding in for … too long, maybe.  If you could … just … listen, and … please, don't say anything … until I'm done?  I … don't know If I'll be able to" she paused, swallowed and went on talking again with that determination that Will knew so well "to … get it all out, otherwise.  Please?"

Will looked at her, with her expression equal parts pleading and resolve and shimmering eyes, opened his mouth, and then closed it on finding the English tongue did not possess the words he wanted to say to her.  He settled for a nod, and pulled his beloved to him, turning her so her back rested on his chest and her head nestled beneath his chin.  She sighed and snuggled back into him, and if Will felt a dampness on his chest where her head now rested, he made no mention of it.

"Thank you Will, that … means much more than you could ever guess."  Another sigh, this one more resigned than thankful, and Elizabeth began her story.

*********************

Yes, I'm evil. I know. Mwahahahaha. On an off note, many, many thanks and virtual cookies to: Try wearing a corset (love the name), Quof, Ankle, Legolas, FrannieGurl2006, psychotermite, spirits of otherworlds (or NiM & empress), Rouge Sparrow, and Opal Lynn. I love you all. Special thanks to Try … corset for being the first reviewer, and to Opal, for the longest review yet.

Well, that's it, really. If you love me, you'll tell your friends about this story (or give me a better summary – as I said, I suck at them). Ta!


	7. Elizabeth's Story

"I love my sister, Will; I always have and I always will."  Elizabeth began with a firm set to her shoulders, and an even firmer tone of voice.  Will wondered who she was reassuring with that statement.  "This has always been considered to be incredibly poor judgment on my behalf, and asserting it in public was inconceivably bad taste.  After Kate …" Elizabeth took a very deep breath and continued determinedly.  "After she left, it was … much more pronounced.  Much more obvious."  She hesitated after that, and Will knew her next words would be painful, for her if not for both of them.

"Have you ever been told, with a grand total of six whole years of age under your belt, that the one person in the world you admire and love the most is a disgrace to her family and to Society as a whole, and that there is no possible way she will ever come to any good?"  Elizabeth sighed, and snuggled closer to Will.  "Of course you haven't – forget I asked that.  I got angry when people said that – what right did they have to call _her a disgrace, they who never left their estates except to go to parties, and who lived in constant fear of assassination?  They were weak, and foolish."  Elizabeth sneered, leaving no doubt as to her contempt for these unknown nobles.  "_They_ were the disgrace, not her, yet whenever I _dared_ to speak up for Kate, they looked at me like … like I was some sort of contagious disease, or something really nasty you might find on your bootsole!_

"And that wasn't even the worst part," Elizabeth sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly – in what, Will couldn't tell.  "The worst part, the absolute crowning _shame was that my father agreed with them!  He never said anything outright, oh no, that would be Poor Form, but he never even once tried to say anything against them.  Not once!  And there were some who, if they had insulted him and not Kate, he wouldn't have thought twice about challenging!  But now, when it was his eldest daughter they slandered, he twiddled his thumbs and pretended not to hear."  Elizabeth gave a sound that might have passed for a laugh, with faulty lighting and a cursory inspection, but wasn't.  "That was when I learned a very important lesson: no matter what you believe in and no matter how strongly you believe in it, you'd best keep shut if no one else feels the same."_

Will pulled his beloved closer to him and tried to mentally square the picture Elizabeth was giving him of Weatherby Swann as a controlling, intolerant, pompous noble as opposed to the kindly and wise old man who Elizabeth still made weekly visits to that _he knew.  There was no way the man who had accepted his daughter's engagement to a common blacksmith with – relative – calm and good-nature could possibly be the man Elizabeth was telling him about._

"My father … was a very different man when we lived in England.  It … took losing his eldest daughter to change him into the person you know now."

Well, if _that wasn't a tale that needed telling, his name wasn't William Turner._

"An unwed noblewoman is a mockery – that is slightly true here, but much more so in England.  When Kate was still unattached at nineteen, Father began to get a bit … desperate.  That's when Robert Longfellow made an appearance."  Elizabeth grimaced and shifted slightly; as if the name was something dirty she wanted to stay far away from.  "He was a very respectable – and very rich – Duke with a very sizeable estate.  Furthermore, he was well-spoken, mannerly, handsome, and not at all put off by Kate five minutes after he met her – which is more than any of her other prospective suitors could claim.  Father thought he was a gift from God.  Kate despised him.

"They spent _hours fighting about it – Kate and Father.  Father was adamant that she marry the Duke – a wonderful match for anyone, but nigh on miraculous for Kate – and Kate was equally determined that she wouldn't.  I don't think she ever even saw a need for her to get married – I certainly can't see her happily married to _anyone_.  Also, she just didn't like her future fiancé.  She thought he was a … what were her exact words again … ah, that's it … she thought he was "an egotistical, chauvinistic, spoiled brat who wouldn't know a refusal if it came up and bit him in the … _ahem_ …nether regions."_

Elizabeth said the last quite primly, and Will didn't need her to tell him that that was the edited version – he knew Elizabeth's views on swearing.

"Beyond that, she was mortally afraid of him, and with good reason, too.  The "good Duke" had had four other previous wives, and not one of them had lived for more than three years once they married him.  'Difficult childbirth' people said, or 'terrible accident.'  'Such a shame,' they said, and 'He must be _devastated_.'  They would smile sympathetically, offer their condolences, and then turn their backs and say 'murderer' and 'did you see his face at the funeral, when he thought no one was looking?'  'Black-hearted killer' and 'I hope he never so much as _looks_ at my Susie,' but my father never paid any attention to them.  He said they were just the jealous rumors of petty nobles who hadn't got anything better to do."

Elizabeth's stance had gotten progressively tenser, and her words had started to take on a slight hysterical tinge as she spoke, leaving Will to hug her tighter and whisper wordless reassurances that he wasn't sure she even heard anyways.  Her shoulders were quite literally shaking, the muscles were so tense, and if her voice got any more strained, it would break.  Overall, the impression of a dam just seconds away from splitting asunder was put across rather well, and if he knew 'Lizabeth, the breaking would come just about …

"**WHY!?"**

… now.  Elizabeth was crying now, dry sobs that made his heart break and his eyes blur in sympathy.  Her hands were clenched in his shirt, and if Will held her any tighter he would probably hurt her.  Ever since he had met her, Will had devoted his life to protecting Elizabeth from harm – but he couldn't protect her from memories, especially memories it was better she remember.  There was absolutely nothing he could to other than wait for her to finish her story, and offer whatever support was needed afterwards, but that didn't make it any easier to hear his Elizabeth in such pain.

"The _one time those stupid, petty, barnyard __hens were right, and he didn't listen to them!  Why couldn't he have just gone along with them on _that_ like he did everything else?  Why couldn't he have at least seen that his daughter was _terrified_ of marrying that … that … _bastard_?  He put it down to 'female hysterics,' but Kate was the _last_ person to get hysterical over things – I've never even _seen_ her have hysterics.  Didn't he __know that Kate wasn't afraid of __anything?"_

After this not-unexpected outburst, Elizabeth seemed to deflate, the fire of her resentment damped, the river of her anger dammed.  She spoke her next words quietly, her voice not soft, but small.

"One day, they started arguing and then they just … didn't stop.  They argued throughout the entire afternoon, and argued the night nearly to dawn.  When Kate came out of the study – where most of their arguments took place – she was … different.  Angry.  She said things that night; did things that I didn't think about but I probably should have.  That … that was when she asked me not to forget her.  She said she'd have to go away for awhile, but that everything would be alright.  It wasn't, not at _all, and when I woke up the next day, she was … was _gone_!  No note, no letter, no little secret message, no word of _any_ kind, she just … wasn't there anymore.  Later, I found out that Father had sent her away to marry the Duke as soon as he could, before I woke up._

"That was the last I ever heard of Kate.  She'd sad that she'd have to go away – she must've known that she wouldn't come back."

Well.  How does one respond to a story like _that?  Will held Elizabeth for a few moments longer, and then titled her chin up to him.  How could she have possibly managed to keep that bottled up for – what, _fifteen years_?_

"Elizabeth."  Dear God, he hoped this was the right thing to say, he hoped he wouldn't screw this up …

"Y-yes, Will?"  Again that barely-noticeable stammer, eclipsed by the mingled hope and trepidation in her eyes.  Will cupped her face in his palms, sent one last prayer that he wouldn't make _too_ much of a mess of what he was going to say, and took his turn to speak.

"Elizabeth, I _know_ you love your sister.  I would have to be blind, deaf, dumb, and about as emotionally sensitive as a piece of pot metal" which he wasn't – not quite, or so he hoped "to not know that.  Furthermore, I believe you are quite justified in loving your sister, as from all you've told me about her she sounds like a person I would very much like to meet.  I also doubt that anything Kate does in her life will come to absolutely no good whatsoever as these English nobles seem to think, because the impression you have given me is not of a woman who will sit back and let everything fall to pieces."  Will had been looking in her eyes for the entire time he'd been talking, and now he smiled to see that the worry was almost completely gone.  "Kate sounds like a fine woman, Elizabeth.  You should be proud to call her your sister."

Will stared into Elizabeth's eyes and hoped the message had gotten across because he didn't know if he could say it any better … and why was she looking at him like that?

"Elizabeth, love?"

No answer, but there was a … calculating look in her eyes that he couldn't quite make sense of.

"Darling, why are you looking at me like that?"

Some of the calculation in her eyes had been replaced by something else, something a good deal more … feral.  And that smile looked far too secretive to be comforting …

"Was it something I sa-_mmppphhh!"_

When Elizabeth pulled back and Will could breathe again, she simply looked at him with what he secretly called her "Governess Look", where she would have that all-knowing, slightly superior expression and the single raised eyebrow, and said "Yes, Will.  It was something you said."

And then neither of them said anything intelligible for … quite some time, really. 

**********************

Okay.  Here it is, _finally.  Whew.  Hopefully I can get back to my regular pace now.  Now … let's see … additional thanks to: Lord Lanceahlot, AgentBloom, ElvenRanger13, and legolaslover for the new reviews, to NiM and empress and Starbrow for putting me on their Favorite Author list, and, if (s)he happens to read this story also, to me, who reviewed A Bit of Fun._

That's all, really.  I hope to get ch 8 out in a few days, and much love to all you who continue reading this.

Ta!


	8. Raiding of Royalty

The _King Midas was a merchant's vessel on its way back from delivering a particularly fine load of spices in England.  Everyone was in a remarkably good mood, considering how long they had yet to go to reach the __Midas' home port in Jamaica – they had made good time on the trip over, Carlos Torres (the merchant who had sold the ships' cargo) had managed to outrageously cheat each and every one of his buyers, and had paid Captain Alameda more than the original bargain had set, who in turn gave some of the unexpected surplus to the crew, so everyone was happy.  Plus, they were making very good time on the return trip too, and if they kept up as they were, the __Midas would drop anchor a full week before its expected return time.  Due to this unusual good cheer the Captain and his First and Second Mates weren't being as hard on the crew as they were wont to be, and while the crew was taking full advantage of this, they were only a little less careful than the norm.  Like … the lookout wasn't paying quite as much attention to the horizon as he was to his bottle of rum, and that small black speck that wavered so on the horizon was discounted as just a trick of the rum, soon to be cured by more rum._

So the crew paid very little attention as the small black speck coalesced into a small black ship, which then grew into a steadily larger black ship.  The first time they saw it, it was thanks to a crewman who had, all unsuspecting, looked over the deck to the horizon, to find that the ship had grown to be quite a large black ship really, all done up in it's own little black sails.  By the time his alcohol-fogged brain had worked out what that meant and he had scrambled to alert the rest of the crew, they could read the elegant writing on the side and see the _other_ crew grinning and beckoning and making downright _rude_ gestures and well by then it was far too late.  After all, gold sinks, and the ocean has no room for kings, but a pearl is the diamond of the sea.

The Captain of this _Pearl was currently on the deck of the _Midas_, watching his crew's reactions to some of the wealth stored on the ship with the air of an indulgent parent observing his children squeal over new toys._

After all, he'd already gone ahead and taken the majority of the most valuable things for himself as the crew was … "cleaning up" as they liked to put it.

Jack Sparrow … excuse me, _Captain Jack Sparrow was quite pleased, no, more than pleased with the way things were going.  This was the second successful raid they'd made in a week, and this one had been more of a "couldn't resist, mate" rather than a planned foray, and had been just as profitable as the first one.  _And_ they'd managed to do it without killing anyone, which didn't happen so often that it could be ignored.  There were some who scorned his preference for bloodless raids, saying that that was the whole _point_, and wasn't he a pirate and not some sissy-livered navy man anyways?  On the whole, Jack preferred to ignore them, because __he at least found it much more fun to leave the attacked to report that they had been attacked by pirates who had come up on them unawares and taken all their gold and valuables and had done so _without needing to kill even a single crewman._  Hauling the entire crew up to the deck and leaving them there stark naked while hiding their clothes in various places around their ship had not, unfortunately, been Jack's idea, but it _was_ a nice little touch._

"Jack!"  That would be Anna-Maria, and she'd forgotten the "Captain" _again._  He was beginning to have serious doubts that _anyone on his ship knew the word.  "JACK!"  Ah well, no choice but to answer her.  Maybe she'd found something interesting._

'Yes, luv?"  He sauntered over to where she was standing, curiosity increasing in leaps and bounds when the normally-irritable bo'sun didn't look annoyed at his easy pace.  "Y'had somethin' y' wanted t' tell me?"  Jack blinked, taken aback when the accustomed slap didn't come and then realized that Anna-Maria hadn't even _noticed_ he'd been talking to her chest.  Well, well, well.  This must be serious indeed.

"That girl who 'elped us git t' _Pearl back, 'er name was Swann, wasn'it, Jack?  T' uppity guvnor's brat that was gonna marry Bootstrap's whelp?"_

"Yeah, it was."  Ah, good ol' 'Lizabeth.  Damn crazy 'risotcrat girl.  Burned all the rum.  Completely uncalled for, that; what'd the rum ever do t' her?  An' what's she got t' do with anything?

"Well.  Kin y' think of a reason she'd be getting sumptin from a mate like this'un?"  She gestured at the body near her feet, and Jack recoiled in spite of himself.

The man was very dirty, and coming from a pirate who's idea of "regular bathing" was getting caught in a rainstorm every other month or so, "very dirty" was _very_ dirty.  He watched in horrified fascination as something moved in the thick, sometimes-crusty layer of grease and sweat and what he prayed was dirt that covered the man like a revolting lacquer.  If Jack had been told that the man was host to a thriving colony of as-yet unnamed organisms that already had a thriving culture and a rich oral history and were making good progress on discovering the wheel, he probably wouldn't have been surprised.  As for the stench, which hung around him in an almost-visible and potent miasma of putrid rot and filth … well, words have not been discovered that could adequately describe it, which is most likely for the better.

"'Ow did y' get up t' balls t' _touch 'is clothes, much less take 'em off?"_

She smiled without humor.  "We didn't, Jack.  If y' _wanna_ do it, go ri'on ahead."

Jack looked down at the unconscious breathing garbage heap again, noted that what he'd originally taken as exceptionally crusty dirt _was_ actually clothes, and then looked back up at still-mirthlessly-smiling Anna-Maria.  "Ah … that's okay, mate.  Le's … leave 'im as … as 'n exm'ple t' all t' others; pound t' point in home t' them, whatsay?"

"Jus' what we thought, Jack."  There was a surprisingly little amount of sarcasm in her voice.  "Now, kin y' think of any reason this'un'd be contactin' t' lass?"

"Not really – not 'less the lass was planning on burnin' 'im fer t' betterment of human'ty.  Why don' we save 'er t' trouble, actu'lly?  Sun's strong 'nough – y' gotta bit o' glass on y'?"

Anna-Maria snorted, whether to agree with him or something else, he wasn't sure, and gingerly prodded the body with her boot.  "Wha'ever she wan'ed t' do wit' 'im, or 'e wit 'er, t' man 'ad this on 'im."  She proffered a sealed and only _slightly dirty letter (a miracle if it had been in close contact with this man for any length of time) at him and Jack took it, noting that _Miss Elizabeth Swann_ was written on the front in calligraphy that could not possibly be the work of this man, whoever he was.  He had the look about him of a man who'd only just barely mastered printing, and had difficulties with even that.  "Thought y'd like t' see it."_

Roughly translated, that meant "I've already read it, and it sounds like something that might affect us, and I _really_ don't want it to, so you read it and tell me I'm wrong, please?"   Except that Anna-Maria would never say that, not if her life depended on it, so it was really more a matter of listening to subtext and pretending he didn't notice the little marks on the seal that indicated it had been broken and then resealed.

Jack read the letter (also written in a script far more legible than the man lying unconscious at their feet was possibly capable of producing) cautiously, looking for any clues or hints that there might be more to it than inked words on paper.  Then the words sunk in, his eyes darkened, and he read the letter again.  And again.  And then again, just to be sure.

Oh hell.  Not him _again._  Oh _bloody **hell**_.  He was slightly aware of Anna-Maria saying something in the background, and the tone seemed resigned enough, but he couldn't for the life of him tell the words.

"Jack!"  Gibbs this time.  Someday he _really needed to sit down with everyone on the crew and have a nice long talk about certain words beginning in CAP and ending in TAIN and the uses and advantages thereof.  "JACK!"  He twirled around, more aggravated by the letter than he'd like to admit._

"What is it _this time?"  Gibbs seemed a bit taken aback at his near-growl, but to give the man credit, he recovered quickly.  He always did, that Gibbs._

"T' crew was jus' wonderin', Jack" Captain.  _Captain, goddamnit!  It wasn't so difficult a word, was it?  "What're we plannin' on doin' next, what with this extra ship an' all?  They'd kinda be likin' some shore leave, Jack, ifin y' get my drift."_

Jack smiled with all of the joviality he didn't feel, and companionably draped himself over about half of Gibbs' body.

"Well then, Gibbs, we're in luck, aren't we?"

"We are?"  Gibbs had gotten used to his Captain's tendency to be overly spontaneous, but all this touchy-feely business was going to take a bit more time.

"O' course we are!  Would I tell y' we're in luck if we weren't in luck, or about to be in luck, or in any other way looking at a future that's vaguely lucky?"

"Err … no?"

"'Course not!  Y're a good man, Gibbs.  Now, t' lov'ly Anna-Maria jus' over there" he flopped his hand loosely in the direction of the _Pearl's bo'sun, who was looking less and less happy by the moment "Has jus' given me this wonder'fl li'l letter that I simp'ly __must get t' my good friend 'Lizabeth.  Y' remember 'Lizabeth?  Bonny lass; mean righ' hook?  Unnat'rl likin' fer t' burnin' of prefc'tly good rum.  She married ol' Bootstrap's whelp – 'member 'im too?  Both of them 'elped m' pick up t' _Pearl_ 'gain."_

"I remember t' kids, Jack.  How'd'ja get a letter fer 'em, I wanna know?"

Jack flapped a hand in a dismissive – and extravagant – gesture.  "'S connections, mate, 's all about connections.  Who y' know an' whatnot.  But that ain't t' point.  T' point is you," and here he swept his hand in a gesture that included the entire crew, as well as the crew of the _Midas_, the clouds, those seagulls over there, and quite possibly most of the western coast of Africa "be wantin' some leave time, I be wantin' t' deliver this letter, and Port Royale be just three days fast sailn' thataway."  He gestured again, in the general direction of Jamaica, certainly, but also in the general direction of Mexico, Cuba, America, and probably Canada too.  "Savvy?"

"Right, Jack."  Gibbs had long since learned the folly of trying to make Jack see reason, but something compelled him to make a token effort.  "But, Port Royale, Jack?  What 'bout that Commodore that's so keen t' get yer neck inna noose?"

Jack turned and gave him a sardonically amused look that was – if he only knew it – almost a complete mirror of the look worn by the aforementioned Commodore on the day of their _last meeting.  "'E ain't lookin' fer y' lot, mate; and t' day Cap'n Jack Sparrow can't 'ide from a bunch o' weasly Redcoats an' a Commodore wit' an' infestat'n of badgers in 'is ass is t' day y' lot kin hang me from t' bowsprit of t' _Pearl_ – an y' kin use me miserable black guts as t' noose."  Jack turned back to the crew, who were for he most part done with looting the _Midas_ and starting to look rather twitchy about not being aboard the __Pearl._

"Oy!  Back t' t' ship, y' mutherlovin' sons o' dogs!"

Jack barked a few more orders and reprimands to crewmen who were taking too long, and made his way to the wheel of his beloved _Pearl_.  His face was set in a mask of meditative satisfaction (his usual expression when at the wheel), but his eyes gave the lie to "normal", if anyone would look at them.  And, everyone being busy doing his own job, no one did, so Jack's impression of carefree relaxation remained quite unspoiled.  If anyone had been standing close enough to hear what Jack murmured as he changed the previous course, they would have probably seen through the mask too, but "close enough" in this case would probably involve being draped over his back, so again the mask held up.

"'S all who y' know.  Who y' know –an' who y' wish y' didn't."

*********************

So, that's chapter 8. Yup. It's #8 all right. Wow. Not really much to say here. *shifts glance from side to side quickly* Um … woo-hoo! Alright! GO ME!!! Yeah … Anyways … Thanks to LordLanceahlot and charmedfanatic12 for the reiviews, and …um … that's it.

Right.

I'll just … go start on #9 now, shall I? Yeah … 

Ta!


	9. Soon Enough

Fog covers (smothers) the bay in a thick, heavy (crushing) blanket, muffling sounds and blinding eyes with moist gray sameness.  Perfect for hiding – the ship wasn't even visible from shore.

"Holy One."  The words are spoken in a soft (reverent) whisper, so as not to carry over the water (too fearful to speak with normal voices).  The man spoken to turns, his eyes brimming with sacred knowledge (madness).  Aside from the speaker he is the only one on the main deck.

"What is it, child?"  He speaks (snaps) gently (harshly), though eager for the other to speak (impatient).  "What must you tell me?"  (Tell me!)

"T-the girl, Holy One."  The first man gazes up at the second in adoration (terror).  The ship creaks and sways underfoot, and the second man sighs with resigned weariness (anger).

"Which girl, child?"  Gently probing for answers (demanding), "I'll not hurt you, you know."  (Not yet.)  "You can tell me."  (You'd _best tell me.)_

"The older one, Holy One."  First now looks at the gently rolling deck, near-bowing (prostrating) before Second.

"Ah."  Spoken slowly, savoring (devouring) the word.  "The most dangerous."  He looks down at First, and smiles kindly (cruelly).  "You have done very well indeed, child."  (Fulfilled your purpose.)  "Is she here?"  (Bring her to me!)

"Yes, Holy One.  They bring her now."  First backs away slowly (fearfully) but Second's attention is no longer upon him; he can hear the steady _slip-splash of oars in water and his eyes are afire with anticipation (hunger).  _

Soon enough, the _thump-bump of a rowboat hitting the edge comes, and a short while later two more men haul up a limply struggling figure.  They drag it (her?) to Second and drop it (her) unceremoniously in front of him, showing the same respect (worship) that First did._

"Holy One."

The figure struggles to stand, fails, and compromises at kneeling as Second stalked forward.  A hand flashes out, latches onto shoulder-length brown hair, and wrenches the figure's head back, dispelling any doubts he might have had that the men he sent out had bungled the job and picked up an exceptionally pretty young boy.  _Beautiful_, was his first thought, but that faded and fell apart under scrutiny.  What this woman has is not beauty, but something that could be mistaken for it if you saw her from a distance, or just for an instant - her nose is too small, her mouth too large and too crooked, her brows too full … in fact, the closer he looks, the less beautiful she becomes.

He smiles happily (maliciously) into steel-gray eyes that are just barely beginning to gain back some measure of clarity.

"There is no need to wait, my children."  (We have already waited too long by far!)  "Take her below, so that I may remove the threat this one embodies."  (She won't be a danger for very longer, oh no.)

"As you wish it, Holy One."  

The two men scramble up, grabbing roughly onto the woman's arms as they do so.  By now she is aware enough that she was struggling slightly against her captors, but she is still weak, and her resistance feeble to say the least.  They drag her belowdecks with little difficulty, doing nothing to disturb the eerie silence that had descended with the fog.  Second stays above for a bit longer, fingering something in his pocket and looking around as if his human eyes could ever hope to pierce the dense fog, but, with a terrible, hacking chuckle, he walks to the open hatch that leads to the woman.  Just before he disappeares below, though, he takes an irregular, cloudy crystal shard about the size of a large hen's egg out of his pocket, a crystal which looked to have been chipped out from a much larger one.  He tosses the shard up, catches it, and gives one last, hideous chuckle before descending below, pulling the hatch shut as he goes.

For a while, there is nothing to disturb the quiet except the gentle lapping of waves breaking against the ship's hull.  For awhile, the air is thick with stillness and choking on silence.  But only for awhile, and then the air is torn asunder with screams.  They are such screams as have not been heard in centuries, and will not be heard for centuries to come, screams that freeze the blood and stop the heart mid-beat.  The screams go on, growing more terrible with every passing moment until, quite abruptly, they cut short.  If one was very, very close to the one who made the screams, one would be able to hear a faint, muffled sobbing.  But, no one is, and that shame, at last, goes undocumented.

Second holds up a crystal that is only recognizable as the one from before by size and shape.  This crystal shard is not a cloudy white, but it glows a sullen red, shot through with scars of black, and this crystal radiates an aura of _wrongness_ that can be felt for yards around.  He smiles, turning his back on the quivering figure now left slumped in the middle of the empty room and heading back above.  The crystal shard is his sole focus, his enchanted gaze fixed on it and it alone; he does not see the ship around him, the ocean below him, or the sky above him.  He climbs the ladder to the silence above without ever noticing it's existence, and the hatchway might as well be mist for all the attention he pays to it.

Once above, however, his loving contemplation is interrupted by another, far different scream.  No human lungs produced this avian shriek, and this was not a cry of inconceivable pain, but of boundless anger and murderous rage.  He looks up, frowning, but sees nothing through the moist blanket of fog, and curses his mortal eyes as he does so.  Then, his attention is once more focused on the crystal, and the cry and unknown bird that produced it dismissed.

Soon enough, he will go back it, out of the fog and silence.  Soon enough, the crew will come creeping back from their fearful absence and make ready the ship to sail again.  Soon enough, he will dispose of the hunk of meat in that special, empty room belowdecks.  Soon enough, there will be three more crystal shards so filled, and the threat to his beloved, greater Crystal will be eradicated.  Soon enough, his plans will come to fruitation.

Soon enough …

*****************

Um, yeah.  That was … just a little late.  Just a little.  Erp!  Sorrysorrysorrysorry!  I ran into the end-of-summer-rush, and then school just started two days ago, and … well I could make up some more excuses, but I won't.  Laziness is a part .. but … um, yeah.  I'm losing a little bit of motivation for this story – which doe notnotnotNOT mean that I won't finish it, but that the updates will be fewer and farther in between, 'k?  I will do my absolute _best to get in a chapter a month, but more (I am extremely sorry to say) I can't promise._

So just ... bear with me, please, okay?  Please?

Now, for the two new reviewers, Keyblade Mistress1 and wicked-angel3, much thanks and virtual cookies … whatever you want really.  To the person who just keeps coming back for more, LordLanceahlot, I give you manymanymany hugs from me, and whatever you want that I can give you.  As for your advice, I'm not going to have Jack start speaking perfect English alluva sudden, but I will try to tone him down a bit, 'k?  Thanks for the suggestion.  :)

And, last but not least, to all of you people out there who are reading this, and haven't given up on me yet, THANK YOU!!!!!  I love you all, I really, really do.  I cannot appreciate how grateful I am to you for humoring me with this, so … just … thank you.  Thank you muchly.

Ta!


	10. Dear Miss Swann

_Elizabeth Swann,_

_Hello Miss Swann … or should I call you Miss Turner now?  It's amazing how many things change in such a relatively short time, isn't it?  Historically speaking, fifteen years is a mere eyeblink, but that's not how it goes for us humans, is it?  So many things can change in that amount of time – so many things can be forgotten._

_Have you forgotten, Miss Swann?  I do hope not – it would be a most disappointing thing to hear.  If you have forgotten, Miss Swann, I urge you most fervently to remember.  You're a smart girl - think about it for awhile, and I'm sure you'll understand of what I speak.  Or perhaps I should say, of whom?_

_Do you remember **now**, Miss Swann?_

_It really is amazing, Miss Swann, how fragile the human body is.  All it takes is the work of a few moments, and the body is permanently disabled, even, dare I say it, deceased?  I have in my possession, Miss Swann, a body I am sure you would be **most** distraught to see befall any harm – provided you remember.  It need not be harmed, Miss Swann, not at all.  Just bring yourself and your charming husband to the place marked on the map I have included, and we might be able to work out a solution pleasing to all._

_Oh, and, Miss Swann?  That nice young Commodore friend of yours?  It wouldn't be wise to inform him of this letter, Miss Swann, not at all.  I'm sure you'll understand, won't you?  It's for everyone's benefit._

_                                                                                                El Sacerdote_

*******************

Well, here's the next "chapter."  It's not at all what I thought it would be (i.e. an actual chapter, not just a letter), but it's here, it's written, it's up, and, most importantly, I might be able to get the next one in while it's still September!  Wooo!  And, 'bout the next one … I _think it will be mainly Will and Elizabeth (that's my intention, anyways), and maybe slightly fluffy, but well … yeah.  Ideally, it will be what this was __supposed to be before it jumped up, bit me on the ass, and proceeded to write itself within about fifteen minutes.  I'm not really promising everything, seeing as what happens to expectations, but that's what I'm going for._

Thanks to Legolas Greenleaf and Lord Lancehlot for their reviews, and yes, I hope it will clear up for you, Lancehlot.  Ch 9 was meant to be written in an extremely weird style like that, so a little confusion is okay. ^_^

Ta!


	11. The Cuddle Before the Storm

In stories, people who love each other have a sort of magical bond that lets them know what the other is feeling or thinking.  At the very least, in stories, a person can tell when something very, very bad happens to someone they are especially close to.

But life isn't a story, and Elizabeth didn't feel anything at all as she lay sleeping, sweaty and sated, in her beloved's arms.

hr

Life after Elizabeth's confession continued on much the same as before.  Except … she was more relaxed, or so Will thought.  Less … anxious.  There were no life-shattering changes, no wild new adventures.  Every day save Sunday, Will went down to his smithy at six o'clock sharp (he never once beat old widow Harrison there), worked through the day, and returned home absolutely no later than ten at night.  Elizabeth cleaned, shopped, gossiped, fed the cat, kept house, and went out every Tuesday for tea with her father.  There were no pirates, no ancient curses, nothing at all to make them in any way different from any other young couple in Port Royale, Elizabeth's birth excepted.  In fact, all in all, some might say they had an ideal life – or as close to ideal as any two mortals might get.

Truth be told, they were both getting rather … bored.  It had been over a year since the Night the Pirates Came, as the townsfolk had taken to calling it, and for an entire year, neither of them had been on any ship of any kind, or heard anything but the vaguest and most absurd (and quite possibly entirely true) rumors of Mad Captain Jack.

One day, Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, around the time Will usually came home.  She wasn't doing anything … just sitting with the cat on her lap, absently petting its fur and thinking about nothing in particular.  Soon enough, the door opened, and she heard the familiar, comforting sound of Will hanging his coat and hat, and taking off his boots.  She didn't turn around, not even when she heard soft footsteps at the doorway, and he didn't say anything.  The footsteps got closer, and then the couch sagged and warm arms wrapped around her, unintentionally depriving the little cat of its perch.  The little thing meowed in reproach, and proceeded to thoroughly wash its fur.  Will chuckled softly, the first sound he had made, and Elizabeth leaned into his embrace with a contented sigh.

"'Lizabeth?"  He spoke quietly, as if unwilling to disturb the comfortable scilence.

"Mmm?"  She shifted a bit, and snuggled into his chest.

"Something the matter?"

"M-mn."  Well, that wasn't very clear, but from the side-to-side motion of her head on his chest, he gathered that that had been a "no."

"Mmm."

They stayed like that for some time longer, not speaking, not moving, just reveling in the silence and mutual comfort of holding and being held.  Will was just about to nod off, when Elizabeth shifted and said, softly, "Will?"

"Yes, love?"

"You … you know how much I love you, right?"

"You do?  Elizabeth!  You know, I never suspected anything of the sort."  Will teased her, tightening his embrace around her.

Elizabeth freed an arm from his grip and lightly clouted him on the shoulder.  "Blacksmith."

"Governess."

"Pirate."

"You'd have it any other way?"

Elizabeth sighed happily and snuggled even closer.  "Never."  Then she got serious again.  "Honestly, Will, you know I love you more than anything, right?"

"Of course I do, dear."  He shifted so he could look down at her.  "Why?"

"Because … because I … I …"

"Because you're bored?"  Will suggested gently.  She looked up at him with wide eyes and he continued.  "Because you're tired of being just a blacksmith's wife, only worrying about that stain on the wall or if Annie will mend fences with her John.  You're tired of walking on ground that doesn't even move a little, and absolutely _sick_ of watching ship after ship disappear over the horizon through your window and not being on any of them.  But most of all, you're tired of not even being able to _smell_ the sea before it's polluted by all the smells of the land."

Elizabeth was silent for a very long time before she finally said: "Are you talking about me, Will, or yourself?"

He sighed, and it was not a happy one.  "Does it matter?"

They stayed like that, silently curled together on the couch, for a very long time, or maybe it was only a few minutes before Elizabeth spoke again, in a plainative almost-whine.

"I miss Jack."

Will held her closer.  "So do I."

_Believe me, 'Lizabeth, so do I._

******************

Well, Lord, you didn't have to wait _too_ long, did you?  Heh – right when I say I'm not going to be able to write a lot, then I just go and make myself a liar.  Kinda funny, that.  I even feel like I could whip out a fluffy little W/E one-shot if I really wanted to …

Hmm.  Maybe I could explain about the cat …

Eh, just ignore me here.  This is just … visible projection of thoughts, or something like that.  Verbal diarrhea, if you will.

Now, important stuff.  THIS IS AN OPEN CALL FOR BETA READERS.  As of current time, I have, let's see, lemme count … ah!  None.  I have absolutely **no beta, and that, my friends, is very, very bad.  If you are interested, please, please, PLEASE give me an e-mail saying such.  Hell, if you _know_ someone who would be interested, talk to them and have _them _drop me a line.  I am BEGGING ON MY KNEES, HERE!  Please, just get back to me if you're willing to beta FF or any other PotC story that might wander through my head.**

Oh, and important note for all would-be betas (if any exist):  You must have an **excellent** grasp of the English language, please.  The mistakes I make are either with homophones or those tiny little dropped or extra letters that, when re over, **completely f*** up the whole meaning of the sentence**.  So, please, I need a **good** beta who can catch things like that, please.  Have a fairly decent mastery of this wacky, irrational language and please demonstrate such in your e-mail, pretty please?

Assuming, of course, that there's _anyone who would want to beta this …_

Whatever.  Just … *sigh*

We need more hours in the day.  Badly.  24 just … doesn't cut it.  At all.


	12. Unexpected Visitor

The next morning, Will woke early and went to the smithy long before he usually did, mindful of the fact that old widow Harrison was visiting her pregnant niece, and opening shop would take far longer without her there. He even managed to get out without very much damage to his sleep, either, as this was about the time the cat would wake one or both of them up, demanding scratches and milk.

The poor little thing looked almost disappointed that Will was already awake, actually.

So it was that, all things considered, Will, in the manner of all die-hard optimists, was almost looking forward to being the first one in the smithy for the first time in a year. He actually whistled a little as he walked to the smithy, imagining what it would be like to be the only one in the shop again.

It was really too bad that someone was already there by the time he had arrived.

"Will, m'boy! Good t' see y' 'gain!"

To say that he was stunned would be a gross understatement, possibly bordering on a felony in certain areas of the world. "Shocked" wouldn't even come close. "Completely, goddamn, fucking, _bloody stupefied_" might be closer to the truth—but only a little. Jack Sparrow, _the Jack Sparrow_, stood, quite as boldly as you please, right in the middle of _Will's_ smithy.

Well … not so much the actual _middle_, really. A bit to the left of the middle, if anything, and farther up—as a matter of fact, the middle _middle_ of the smithy was actually over there, next to that small sword rack and in front of the donkey manger. But that didn't matter. The location of Jack was of no consequence, except that it gave credibility to the existence of Jack.

Jack brushed by him, and Will turned to follow his movement, like a mindless … thing. That turns. And has no mind. And muscular problems that result in a complete inability to close the jaw.

Finally, he managed to get out a faint "W-wha—? How—"

"How's not th' question ye be wantin' t' be askin', m'boy." Jack gave him a look, laden with double meaning and positively _swimming_ with little brown bits of questionable origin – much like the rest of him, actually. "Nor's what, really … well, come t' think, what jus' might do. 'Pends on what'cha meaning t' put after it, it does, but yeah, what could do it. Great word, what. Nice 'n flexible-like."

By this point Will wasn't sure if he wanted to hug Jack for being alive, yell at him for being in Port Royale, or gag him and leave him tied up in a corner to deal with later. He was leaning away from the latter, slightly for moral reasons, but mostly because he knew that Jack would manage to get out of the ropes within the hour.

"Jack …" Will sighed, and decided he might as well play along. "Then _why_ are you here, Jack?"

Jack's eyes brightened, and he showed off his gold-capped smile to its fullest extent. "Ah! Now _there_'_s_ the question ye be wantin' t' be asking, mate! Well, y'see, one day I was jus' sailin' along, mindin' m' own business, when, outta nowhere, I get t' urge t' check up on y' two ne . . . nur . . . nelly . . . married folks. An'" he spread his arms, gesturing even more extravagantly than normal, "'ere I be. Funny 'ow these things work out, innit?" Another incorrigible smile that was not so much "innocent" as "Ha'n't done anythin' bad lately, luv, honest!"

Will stared at Jack for an unrecorded amount of time, then slowly raised an eyebrow. "Jack?"

"Yes, luv?" The pirate in question had taken the moment to begin to wander around the smithy, and was poking at the rack that held some of Will's newest swords.

"That's bullshit. And don't touch that one – it's a special order, and I'll have to spend hours polishing it back to normal if you get your grubby hands all over it."

Jack snatched his be-ringed (and very dirty) hands away from the sword they had been creeping to and gave Will an injured look.

"Tha's cold, mate. I'll have y' know that it rained on me not yest'dy. 'M perfectly clean." At Will's disbelieving look, he shuffled for a bit, and then amended, "Alrigh', it was a week." A raised eyebrow. "Two." A second eyebrow was added to the first, and Jack snapped. "Fine! I ha'n't 'ad a bath inna mont', y' 'appy now?"

"No," Will responded calmly. "Because you still haven't told me why you're here, Jack." His eyes narrowed in a mix of suspicion and alarm. "Is it about Elizabeth?"

Jack winced, which was a fairly telling answer to Will, and swung the mix from suspicion-and-a-little-worry to full-fledged alarm.

"Well . . ." the pirate hedged. "Yes n' no."

_"Yes. __And.__ No?!?"_ In a few minutes, Will thought, he would be shrieking, and then there would just be no help for it.

"Mos'ly yes," Jack admitted with a cough and shuffle. "'Ere . . ." he shuffled through his many-pocketed coat for a bit before pulling out a thick white letter, only slightly grubby due to extended contact with Jack. The seal looked untampered-with to Will but, knowing Jack, it probably wasn't. "'Ave a lookit this, mate. See iffn y' can make sense of it."

Will stared at the letter for quite awhile, and its thick white paper and the elegant calligraphy written on it, but he had to admit that all he saw was the name. Eventually, after Jack had coughed a few times, Will looked up, and put the letter away, to Jack's obvious surprise.

"Ain't y' gonna look at it, mate?"

"Yes," Will replied, far too calmly for Jack's ease of mind. "But I am going to look at it with Elizabeth, and you are coming with me." Judging by the faint panic that crossed his face, Jack wasn't very enthusiastic about that idea.

"Well now, luv, I don' rightly see why _I_ need t' come . . . it is, after'll, obvios'ly a fam'ly matter, and I ain't really part o' t' family 'ere, so I don' really—" He had been slowly creeping to the door during this rambling monologue, and had _just_ reached back to the doorhandle . . .

_Thunk_.

Jack stared at the sword quivering an inch from his hand, and wondered how he could have ever forgotten about _that_ little trick.

"Jack," Will said firmly, his tone broking no argument. "Consider yourself adopted."

Jack sighed, wondered at the odds that the lad would still have his aversion to dirty fighting, and resigned himself to running away at the earliest available opportunity – which, unfortunately, was not this one.

"Yessir."

"Good." Will reached for a little wooden sign with the words "CLOSED FOR SPECIAL BUSINESS," hung it in the window, and then gestured for Jack to go on with the sword he had easily pulled from the door. "After you, Jack."

* * *

I am so sorry you guys. It's been . . . what, almost a year? So so sorry. Words cannot express. So so so sorry. ::cries:: (And hopefully the reviewers I am replying to stumble over this story again

**Lord Lanceahlot:** If you still remember this story exists, I love you.

**Faery:** Words do not exist to tell you how happy I was that you reviewed, but that's okay, because at least half of what I write is for you anyways. :P

**Kuramasgirl556/Nikki:** O.o You have a lot of fics. But I will try to read all the ones in fandoms I recognize -- I'll warn you though, I'm a horrible reviewer. It's like pulling teeth.

**Amarous Thoughts:** Well, here is the next chapter . . . 8 . . . months . . . after you reviewed . . . . Sorrysorrysorry.

**Angelic Evility:** You'll find that I'm always hard on myself . :D Sorry about the huge delay in updating -- this is so far from normal for me.

**psychotermite:** I am so so so sorry for stopping for so long. I wish you would have bugged me to keep writing, I really do -- I have so many freaking stories to write, that if people don't bug me about one, it won't get written. .


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